GAUL
PIC DE VICDESSOS
AUGUST AD 342
‘I thought you were dead.’
The words were spoken in a dialect Arinius did not know, so he struggled to make sense of them. He opened his eyes to see a girl of fifteen or sixteen looking down at him in the half-light of the dusk.
‘Or ill,’ she added.
He realised he must have been unconscious for hours. The light had fled from the mountain and the woods around him were now black. Arinius stared up at the pretty, round face. She was wearing a blue tunic, with wide sleeves, though her hair was loose rather than braided. He could see from her colouring that she was a descendant of the Volcae or the Tertelli who lived in the valleys before the Romans came.
He sat up. ‘I’m not dead,’ he said, though for a moment he thought he might be. Perhaps she was an angel?
‘I can see that now.’
He smiled. ‘Of course.’
‘Are you ill?’
Arinius looked down and remembered the attack, the panic as he lost consciousness. Quickly, he glanced over at the rock and saw that the map was still there, undisturbed.
He sighed. ‘I am tired. I’ve been travelling for some time.’
‘Where have you come from?’
‘Where have you come from?’ he said back at her, enjoying her spirited way of talking and meeting his eye.
‘I asked you first.’
Arinius laughed. ‘Aren’t you afraid to be out here on your own?’
‘Why should I be?’
‘It’s nearly night,’ he said, though, even as he was speaking, he could see there was no trace of fear in the girl’s face. Only wide-eyed interest and confidence. He laughed again, and, this time, was rewarded with a smile.
‘What were you doing?’ she asked, looking at the writing materials spread all around him, his bag and the squares of wool. ‘It’s too dark to see anything out here.’
‘It is now,’ he agreed. ‘It wasn’t when I started.’
She looked at him curiously. ‘Why would you come here to paint?’ she asked. ‘Or whatever you’re doing.’
‘Well,’ he began, then realised he couldn’t think of a plausible answer. ‘It’s as good a place as any.’
‘It isn’t! It’s a stupid place to come! ’ she said crossly. ‘There are wild animals out here, didn’t you think? Down there, we have houses and tables where it might be easier to work.’ She shrugged. ‘But if you are all right in the woods, then . . .’
With a flick of her long brown hair, she picked up her basket and turned away from him.
‘Don’t go! ’ he called, desperate not to lose her company. ‘I was unaware there was a settlement so close. I would, of course, much prefer that. Could you show me the way?’
She looked at him for a moment, then nodded. ‘If you like.’
Arinius gathered his belongings and, aware of the girl’s sharp eyes on him, returned everything to his bag. He retrieved the map, rolled it and put it inside the bottle.
‘What were you painting?’ she asked.
He smiled. ‘Nothing that matters.’
‘Most people don’t come here,’ she said, changing the subject again. ‘That’s why I was surprised to see someone. You.’
‘Why don’t they come here?’
‘There are legends about this valley. The Vallée des Trois Loups, it’s called.’
‘What kind of legends?’
She stared cautiously at him. ‘You have heard of Hercules?’
Arinius hid a smile. ‘I have,’ he said seriously.
‘It is said that when he abandoned his lover, Pyrène, the daughter of King Berbyx, she tried to follow him and was torn to pieces by wild animals. Here. Wolves, obviously.’
‘Obviously.’
She looked suspiciously at him, thinking he was making fun of her, but Arinius smiled, and after a moment, she continued.
‘When Hercules found her remains, he was turned half mad with grief. He ripped the land apart with his bare hands and that’s how the mountains were formed.’ Her face creased in a frown. ‘I don’t think it’s a true story.’
‘Maybe not,’ he agreed.
‘But it’s where I got my name,’ she added.
‘What is your name, will you tell me?’
For a moment, he thought she would refuse.
‘Lupa,’ she said.
Arinius smiled, thinking there was perhaps something of the wolf about her. The way she walked with purpose, her long hair lying flat against her back.
‘What’s your name?’ she asked.
‘Arinius,’ he said.
‘Where do you come from?’
‘I’ve travelled long distances,’ he said. ‘But I suppose I might call Carcaso home.’
Her eyes widened with interest, but then she shrugged, as if to say that such far-off places were of no interest to her. Taking him by surprise, she suddenly set off back down the wooded path and he was forced to hurry to keep up with her.
Arinius was aware of her glancing at him out of the corner of her eye, though, as if to check he was real.
‘Are you ill?’ she asked again in a serious voice. ‘There’s blood on your clothes.’
Arinius thought of the gasping for air and the pain. He’d thought he was going to die, but, for whatever reason, God had spared him.
‘I am ill,’ he said. ‘But I feel better at the moment.’
Lupa stared at him for a moment. ‘Good,’ she said abruptly, then continued even faster down the hill.
It was almost dark by the time they reached a small circle of houses, buildings, huts on the far side of a wide-open plain. Tiny splashes of colour, blue and pink and yellow. Tall poppies, the colour of blood, punctuating the green with red.
‘There it is,’ she said.
‘What’s it called?’
‘It doesn’t have a proper name.’
‘All right,’ he smiled. ‘What do you call it?’
‘Tarasco,’ she said.
TARASCON
AUGUST 1942
‘Your plan’s worked,’ Pujol said, coming back out to the terrace.
‘Authié took it to Saurat, like you predicted, Audric. Saurat authenticated it.’
Raoul whistled.
‘Ben.’ Baillard nodded. ‘Good. My thanks to you all, especially you, madomaisèla. Because of your courage and quick thinking, we are further ahead than I could have dared to hope.’
‘I was glad to help,’ Sandrine said, squeezing Raoul’s hand.
‘My thanks to you too, Madomaisèla Lucie.’
Lucie nodded, but didn’t say anything. She continued to stare out over the cottage gardens, almost invisible now in the fading light. Sandrine and Raoul exchanged a look. Sandrine touched her arm. Lucie jumped, then caught her breath. Sandrine wanted to tell her that everything would work out all right, but she couldn’t bring herself to give her false hope.
Baillard, Pujol and Raoul had all arrived at the house at the same time, to find the girls waiting for them. Baillard and Pujol had been on their way back to the Col de Pyrène, Breillac having passed on Raoul’s earlier message that a German team was at the cave. They had met Raoul coming down from the mountain to tell them about the gunfight, the mining of the cave and the fact that Coursan – Authié as he was learning to call him – had the forgery.
Sandrine was delighted to see Raoul, although furious that he’d taken the risk of coming into town. For his part, he’d been horrified to learn about her trip to Le Vernet and that she had been in such close proximity to Authié and Laval. Quickly though, his anger had given way to pride at how she had held her nerve and set the trap.
‘Was there a real Leo Coursan?’ Sandrine said.
‘I think there must have been,’ Raoul answered. ‘That’s what alerted César in the first place.’ He sighed. ‘If only he’d confided in me, then.’
He looked at Baillard. ‘Do you think Authié was responsible for César’s murder?’
‘Yes, although I imagine Laval actually killed him.’
‘And Antoine.’ Raoul’s face hardened. ‘And I was that close to him. I could have shot him. Both of them.’
‘There was nothing you could have done,’ Sandrine said quietly. ‘You had to let him go for the plan to work.’
‘Not next time,’ he said. ‘Next time, I will kill him.’
She looked at him for a moment, then turned to Monsieur Baillard.
‘What do you think will happen now?’
‘I will watch to see what Captain Authié does with the forgery now Sénher Saurat has authenticated it. Even though Bauer is dead – thanks to you, Pujol, we know the identity of those men – it doesn’t mean that there isn’t Nazi money behind Authié.’
‘What do you think he will do with it?’
‘He might do many different things. He might offer it to the Ahnenerbe in Berlin, or even to the Weltliche Schatzkammer Museum in Vienna. He might have his own experts in Paris.’
‘Or keep it?’ she asked.
‘Or, indeed, keep it,’ Baillard agreed.
‘What are we going to do about the bodies?’ Raoul asked.
‘Leave them to rot up there,’ Pujol said.
‘Achille . . .’ Baillard reproved him.
Pujol held up his hands. ‘I know, I know. You want them safely in the earth, don’t you, Audric? But we can’t. If we open the cave, word will get back to Authié.’
Baillard sighed. ‘I understand. And it is better if he thinks he has got away with this unnoticed, yes.’
‘Are you going to stay in Tarascon, Monsieur Baillard?’ Sandrine asked.
‘I cannot. I am expected in Ax-les-Thermes to help a new group of refugees. It is an old promise and I must keep it. After that, in September – and once things have quietened in Tarascon – I shall begin the business of searching for the real Codex.’ He inclined his head to Raoul. ‘A business that, thanks to you, Sénher Pelletier, will now be easier.’
‘Let me know if I can help,’ Raoul said. ‘Perhaps I could come back in a few weeks, if you want me to.’
‘I will.’
For a moment, nobody spoke. Lucie was asleep in her chair. Pujol was tapping the ash of his cigarette on to the flagstones of the terrace.
‘Is Sandrine still in danger, Monsieur Baillard?’ Raoul asked quietly.
‘We’re all in danger, one way or another,’ Sandrine said, not wanting to think about it.
Raoul put his hand on her arm. ‘Sandrine, please.’ He looked back to Baillard.
‘Is she?’
Baillard paused. ‘I believe Madomaisèla Sandrine is in less danger than before. Captain Authié has no need of her. He believes he now knows all she had to tell. Not only that, he has the Codex itself – or so he believes.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Raoul said, pulling Sandrine even closer to him.
‘Your part in this story is done, madomaisèla,’ Baillard said. ‘You should return to Coustaussa tomorrow, then decide what to do for the best.’
‘I’ve already decided, Monsieur Baillard. Liesl will stay there with Marieta, as we’d always planned. Geneviève’s close at hand. They all know each other now.’ She paused and looked at the old policeman. ‘And Eloise and Inspector Pujol are here, if there’s any trouble.’
Pujol nodded. ‘I’ll keep an eye on things.’
‘I don’t know what Lucie will want to do, but I’ll return to Carcassonne with Marianne and Suzanne. There’s no need to wait.’ She met Baillard’s eye. ‘I’m going to help them. Work with them.’
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Raoul started to say. ‘I’d be happier if you stayed in Coustaussa.’
Monsieur Baillard gave a slight smile. ‘No, Madomaisèla Sandrine is right. It is the wisest thing to return home. If you carry on as usual, Captain Authié has no reason to be suspicious. If you disappear from view, you run every risk of making him wonder what else you have to hide.’ He held her gaze. ‘But be careful, all three of you. Be very careful and circumspect in what you choose to do.’
His words sent another shiver down her spine. ‘I will.’
Lucie suddenly stretched, then sat up in her chair. Sandrine wondered how long she’d been awake.
‘There’s nothing that can be done for Max other than to keep writing, keep hoping we can get him out,’ Lucie said. ‘He said that there are trains taking the Jewish prisoners to the East. Frenchmen, not foreigners.’ She stopped, clearly struggling to keep her fear under control. ‘If they send him away, I’ll never see him again.’ She put her hand on her stomach. ‘We will never see him.’
Sandrine got up and put her arm around Lucie. She felt rigid, tense, unyielding. Sandrine didn’t say anything, couldn’t think of anything she could say.
‘Is it true?’ Lucie said, looking at Monsieur Baillard. ‘There are special trains?’
‘It is what they say.’
Lucie looked at him for a moment longer, then nodded, as if she had come to a decision. She turned to Sandrine.
‘If it’s all right with you, I’ll stay in Coustaussa. If it’s possible. At least until the baby is born.’
‘Of course.’
She stood up. ‘Now, I’m sorry to be a bother, but is there somewhere I might lie down for an hour or so? We’ll have to set off for Foix to pick up the motor, if you want to get back to Coustaussa in the morning.’
‘Only if you’re up to driving,’ Sandrine said.
‘I will be. A couple of hours’ sleep will see me right.’
Pujol hauled himself out of his chair. ‘It might take a moment,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ve been using the bedroom as something of a store.’
Lucie rested her hand on Sandrine’s shoulder as she passed. ‘Thanks, kid,’ she said, ‘for all of it. For coming with me, for putting up with the fuss. You and Marianne, you’ve been wonderful. Real pals.’
For a moment after she’d gone, they sat in silence.
‘What about you?’ Sandrine said in a soft voice to Raoul.
‘My only hope is to keep moving. Despite what we’ve done today, nothing’s changed for me.’
‘I suppose I thought . . .’
‘The warrant against him is for murder, filha, as well as insurgency,’ Baillard said quietly. ‘He cannot go back to Carcassonne.’
‘No.’ Sandrine felt a lump in her throat. She looked at Baillard, then at Raoul.
‘I just hoped that . . .’
‘I’ll send a message whenever I can,’ Raoul said swiftly. ‘If there’s a chance to meet, I’ll take it.’
Sandrine squeezed his hand. She knew as well as he did that it was a promise he’d struggle to keep.
‘I’ll find a way,’ he whispered.
‘I know.’
From inside the house, the sound of Pujol preparing a bed for Lucie. Low voices, a door shutting.
‘You should rest too, madomaisèla,’ said Baillard. ‘And you, Sénher Pelletier.’
Sandrine shook her head. ‘I couldn’t possibly sleep. I’ve got too many things going round in my head.’ She looked out towards the Pic de Vicdessos, shrouded now in the blackness of the night. ‘You believe the Codex is still there?’ she asked.
‘I do.’
‘And . . . you believe it can raise the ghost army?’
Baillard smiled. ‘Can you not hear them?’ he said in a quiet voice. ‘The shadows in the mountains.’
Sandrine stared at him for a moment, then she closed her eyes. She took a deep breath, trying to float free of the real world around her, what she could see and feel and touch. Instead tried to listen to the older echoes and sounds held in the memory of the land.
For a single, dazzling moment she saw their faces clearly. Not shadows or echoes, but instead a girl with long copper curls pinned high on her head. Another, more radiant still, in a long green dress and with dark hair loose on her shoulders. Shimmering and bright against the night sky, spirit and absence of colour.
‘Can’t you hear them?’ Baillard said again. ‘They are waiting to be summoned.’